From the Latin, Adventus
by Cerulea
Summary: A series of snippets about Dean/Cas (and the occasional Sam, Charlie, etc.) for the Holiday Season.
1. Chapter One - From the Latin

_So, I wanted this to be an advent calendar fic-per-day project. But unfortunately working non-stop for the past week has caused me to miss the first five days of December. Woops._

_I'd like to try the challenge of another daily-post but idk how i'm going to do that because my work hours are absolutely bananas... But hey, let's try. If it isn't a one-a-day, then it'll just be a collection of shorts for the Holiday season. (Which is more likely.) Quick and dirty, people!_

_The deal is this: assume unless the chapter title denotes otherwise that the chapters are unrelated, individual snippets._

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**Chapter One - From the Latin**

"I think I figured out the pattern of the murders," Sam announces into the yawning void of their silent motel room.

"Oh yeah?" Dean automatically answers, disinterestedly.

"Yeah, and it spans years. _Decades_."

That pricks up his ears. "Well let's have it poindexter."

"Every third year, three people die throughout the course of Advent." His hand thumps against the table as the puts down his papers, his eyes squinting, focusing on something only he can see. "Maybe a perversion of the Trinity...?" he mutters to himself. "So, demonic?"

"Throughout what?" Dean asks, still a step behind.

"Advent," Sam answers off-handedly, rifling through his papers once again.

"...Ok."

"Dean, do you even know what Advent is?"

"Yeah..."

He obviously doesn't.

Sam tilts his head to the side, giving his brother one of those far too familiar looks of bemused disbelief. He knows when Dean is lying. Honestly, Dean's not very good at it. Hustling, yes. Lying, no. There's a fine line.

"Ok fine!" Dean erupts. "What is advent? Go ahead all-knowing one."

"Advent," a voice deep like whiskey and bruises and the scrape of naked skin between cheap sheets rumbles a chill down Dean's spine. He whirls around, coming face to face with Castiel, disinterestedly examining a sawed-off Dean has been meaning to give a good clean. "From the Latin, adventus," Castiel continues, his eyes meeting Dean's.

Dean simply swallows, and none too quietly.

Castiel drops his eyes back down to the shotgun in his hands and Dean is bizarrely thankful, letting a much needed breath out.

"Colloquially it refers to the commencement of the season starting four Sundays before, you all assume, Christ came into the world. Your math is incorrect, completely historically inaccurate. But it doesn't seem to matter."

Dean doesn't realize he's been staring at Castiel's hands, until they still on the weapon, and the lengthy silence afterward prompts Dean to look up. He is immediately caught again in the angel's too-deep stare.

Castiel continues, "Literally, it means the beginning of something. Something important coming into place." He doesn't take his eyes off of Dean as he lets the words sink in, and as he hands over the shotgun.

Dean's eyes finally drop from Castiel's as he takes the shotgun from him with noticeably trembling hands, too distracted by wondering if Castiel's words have more weight than they seem, to even care whether he looks shaken.

If Sam notices, he doesn't say anything. But Dean can feel his eyes on him for the rest of the night.

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_Also, I'm sorry for the radio silence if anyone has sent me messages or reviews. Or if I haven't been reviewing a work of yours that I was previously. I haven't been receiving **any** notifications from the site for over a month, and I'm trying to set that right._


	2. Chapter Two - Time

_This might not be seasonally correct with the actual show, I am aware of that, but I don't care._

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**Chapter Two - Time**

Castiel shouldn't be doing this.

He knows this, he knows he shouldn't have done it. You can't change the past. What could possibly be the point, he asks himself, of going back in time, knowing that he can have no effect? None that is good. None that lasts. That's just not the way time works.

God's built-in firewall against the powerful ripping apart the space-time continuum with a few well-placed changes - everything has repercussions.

Save someone today, they simply die tomorrow. Unsink a ship, everyone dies anyway.

Save Mary Winchester...

Something will still come. Something always comes. For Sam and Dean, something will always come. Mary must have felt the same way when she was young, a hunter.

But there was a peaceful time, in the middle, ten good years. Where Mary was a mother, and John was a father, they were husband and wife and they loved and fought and laughed and thought about the future as though it were a million years away. As though they had so much time.

It's sad. Phenomenally, confusingly sad. Which is why Castiel should never have come. Knowing how it all turns out for her. But... the longer he stays, the less he can regret it.

The way Dean's eyes go sad and distant during Christmas time, the way he thinks of her with unrelenting warmth and longing. Castiel had to see her, the way Dean remembered her. And he cannot be sorry for doing so.

Not when he gets to see them like this - daughter and son, bundled in their winter coats and mittens, knit hats and rosiness to their cheeks. The brightness of Dean's eyes is astounding. He really does look... special. Like it shouldn't be surprising that the fate of the world will fall partly on him. He is such a beautiful child. The flush of his cheeks and lips making his orange freckles stand out. And Mary, she is beautiful. She radiates a feminine kind of grace, a strength in her love for her little boy that Castiel awes at, for only barely understanding it.

They make such fun of the struggle through the snow, young Dean very nearly laughing himself out of breath. He takes two handfuls of snow and throws it into the air, staring up into the evening sky to watch it float down again. It glitters in the streetlamp's glow, and he closes his eyes to feel the tiny crystals fall on his upturned face.

He is happy, in a simple way. And it is beautiful.

Castiel looks over to Mary, to see her watching her son. For a moment there is something sad about her, but it is swallowed quickly by the brightness of her affection for him.

When Dean opens his eyes she is there, offering her gloved hand and he takes it without a second thought. Such an oddly painful thing for Castiel to see, the way he takes the hand that reaches for him without any doubt, completely open.

"Will Sammy like it?" Dean asks, looking up at Mary with big eyes.

"Like what baby?" she asks, beginning to move them along again.

"The snow."

"He's too little to play in it yet, but you should tell him all about it when we get home."

"Ok," Dean agrees cheerily.

Castiel stands still, invisible even beneath the light of the streetlamp, and watches them walk hand in hand back to the house where less than a month from this moment, Mary will be taken.

"What're you gonna tell him about the snow?" Mary asks, holding her boy's hand tight.

"Um... how it's sparkly. And, how you can build with it and Dad can make big hills and how when he's bigger we can do snow angels together."

She rubs her gloved palm against his hat-covered head before leaning sideways to kiss the top of his head as they walked.


	3. Chapter Three - Out of Heat

_This chapter's a mess as far as editing is concerned. But here it is!_

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**Chapter Three - Out of Heat**

For the most part, the Men of Letters bunker is ideal. It is beyond perfect, to just plain awesome. Dean couldn't have asked for a more tailor-made Bat-cave for two Hunters. Guns, lore, secret chambers, and (thank God) separate bedrooms. It's warded from pretty much everything that's ever existed on Heaven, Earth, Purgatory and the downstairs. There is very little about this place that isn't exactly as they need it.

The problem he's facing now actually isn't even really a flaw. Just... inconvenient. See, the place is just so damn big. They've been there for months and they're still finding new closets and crevices. New secret rooms and floor-hatches.

After all it's not the bunker's fault that Dean took it upon himself to go exploring, in the dark, while they have no power because of this damn blizzard, with poor shivering Castiel in tow.

Naturally, Cas was roped into the excursion by dint of being Cas. Dean merely assumed he would follow.

He wasn't incorrect.

They'd gone down some stairs and through some corridors, around some corners and even through a scooby doo-style bookcase before they found something that truly piqued Dean's curiosity - a large iron door with some unreadable ancient language carved artfully around the border of the doorway.

"What's this?" Dean wonders out loud, mischievously, lifting the heavy handle and pushing it open with a grunt. It's pitch black inside but pointing the flashlight around tells him that the space is vast.

He looks at Cas over his shoulder and smirks like a teenager cutting class, "C'mon."

Dean's light lands on something across the room, "Hold on," he tells Cas before jogging over.

Castiel can hear banging, clicking, the general sound of Dean getting himself into trouble, until he hears one heavy click and the room is filled with yellow light and the sound of humming.

Dean raises his eyebrows at Cas with a smile, looking very impressed with himself. "Still got power down here." He looks around with a whistle.

It's a curious room, but familiar in some way. And Dean realizes what it is a moment too late. Right as Castiel takes the few fateful steps into the middle of the room, an ancient red lightbulb with wire-hanger-thick filament surges to life, flashing in time with an old buzzer that reminds Dean of a military hospital he saw in an old black and white horror flick about zombies he watched as a kid. The door slams shut, reinforced walls rolling down from the ceiling like garage doors, but significantly more solid, all around them. And then he and Cas are left in the wake of the ruckus, in a suddenly silent, dim space now closed up tight as a drum.

Dean eyes the sigils carved into the floor, painted elegantly onto the roll-down doors, and he sighs, knowing he was right.

It's a panic room.

A lot more high-tech than Bobby's, but that's what it is. And now they're locked inside of it. With nothing but a few half a century old yellow lightbulbs to illuminate the space.

Castiel looks at Dean with a glare of absolute loathing.

"Woops," Dean shrugs. "Uh... maybe one of these can get us out..." He eyes the many levers and buttons before him, not really able to make sense of any of it.

"Perhaps you shouldn't touch anything else."

"I didn't touch anything Cas, Ok. I didn't do this," he gestures around the locked-up room.

Castiel merely tilts his head, narrowing his eyes in disbelief.

"I swear!" Dean defends. "Here, look, I didn't move anything."

Castiel sighs and starts toward Dean, but as he gets about five feet away from him suddenly a large lava-lamp like structure sitting atop the console lights up and buzzes to life. Castiel halts immediately in place and Dean jumps back as if electrocuted. The buzzing continues until Castiel, completely unintentionally, stumbles a step backward. The buzzing is silenced and the light goes out.

They both stare at it, then at each other. Castiel takes a curious step toward Dean and the contraption, but as soon as he does, it goes off again. And again, as soon as he throws himself backward, it stops.

Dean steps toward the thing, touches it hesitantly despite Castiel's warning gasp, and leans it over, tipping it in Castiel's direction. It comes to life again.

"Woah," he gives a laugh, "Angel-meter. It can read that you're not human-"

Castiel levels a dangerously irritated look at him.

Dean sets the thing right and the buzzing shuts off. "Well, not originally." Dean inspects the equipment closer, "These guys were no joke. This is some impressive handiwork. They're ages ahead of us and I have a phone that can find me the exact location of strippers and pizza within a square foot of accuracy."

"I don't understand. I'm not an angel anymore."

Dean leans the equipment closer to Cas and it immediately goes nuts - flashing, buzzing. Castiel takes a step back, grimacing from the volume.

"The Angel-meter disagrees." Dean sets the thing upright again. "Maybe it senses what you were. Somehow. I mean, you're mortal, and you're in a mortal body, but your brain is still Castiel. Maybe it knows that." He shrugs.

Castiel folds his arms across his chest, making a rather put-off expression. He balls his fists and shoves them under his arms, shoulders high, eyes scanning the room. Dean can tell he is cold. Cas hasn't quite adjusted to feeling the weather. The former angel heads toward the rolling door, but halts awkwardly after only a few feet when the lights and sirens sound again. He backs up, and they stop. He looks at Dean, then down to the floor. He takes a few careful steps, and then throws himself back again when once more he is assaulted by the alarm. Dean walks up to his side, looks at him, then walks the remaining feet out of the invisible barrier and to the door. Without a peep from the alarms. He looks at Castiel and shrugs. The former angel huffs, crossing his arms again, looking both livid and very alone.

Dean tries the door, tries shoving it, tries rolling the reinforced walls back upward. But he can't. He walks every square inch of the place, looking for a way out. But no luck. He looks at Castiel, and the apparently still slightly angelic man sighs dramatically before dropping to the floor, cross-legged.

Dean grabs a kerosene lamp he spotted across the room and lights it, bringing it over to Castiel and setting it in front of him. He roots around until he finds an old velvet blanket, heavy and brown. It's smells vaguely like the Library. He brings it with him, throwing it over Cas' shoulder as he sits down beside him, close enough that the shivering man will get some body heat. Castiel looks at him graciously and Dean can't help but huff a chuckle, because for a guy whose first entrance into Dean's life brought exploding lightbulbs and dramatic prophecy, he sure does look pathetic all cold and shivering.

With no service on their phones and no way out, they sit there quietly for a long time, hoping that Sam or Charlie or Kevin will notice how long they've been gone and come to find them. But they both know, even once they started looking it could be ages.

The old clock on the wall ticks twelve midnight and Dean shakes his head, reaching into his coat for his flask.

"Well, Merry Christmas, Cas. Here's to hoping we don't get hypothermia and die."

He raises the flask to his lips and takes a healthy gulp. With a gesture he offers it to Castiel, who looks at it, and then to Dean, as if to be sure it's ok if he takes a sip. When Dean raises his eyebrows and gives a quick nod, Castiel gingerly takes the flask and takes a sip. He grimaces as he swallows, giving a stuttered cough. He hears Dean chuckle as he clears his throat.

"That's some Singer-style rot-gut."

Castiel nods, thinking he understands the colloquialism. He stares absently at the floor, remembering the man, feeling something he isn't sure what to name. A solemn kind of longing. He looks at Dean, and sees he looks the same, deep in thought, a little sad.

"I miss him," Castiel says suddenly, as it occurs to him that this is what he is feeling.

"We all do," Dean adds curtly.

Castiel watches him for a long moment. "You most of all."

Dean looks at him, and for a moment he's going to argue. Say that Sam misses him just as much, that Jodie must be heartbroken. But instead he just... takes this one for himself. "It's worse now. Christmastime," he explains. "We never really got to do holidays as kids, ya know. But, when we stayed with Bobby, he always tried to make something of it. For us. It was hard for him, but... After he and my Dad fell out, Sam and I didn't really get to see him anymore. And Dad wasn't much for tinsel and christmas trees. Non that Bobby was. But I'll never forget that, ya know. That he tried."

Dean chances a look at Castiel and finds him staring at the lantern, a slight smile on his face. He knows Cas understands. Maybe most things about being human he doesn't, but this he does. Oddly enough.

"When he was little," Dean admits, "I tried to do that for Sam."

Castiel doesn't say it but he thinks, _You were little too_.

"Guess we shoulda done more for Kevin and you. Taken you to a nice Goose-dinner or something," he half-jokes.

Castiel chuckles, "I appreciate the gesture."

They settle into another peaceful few minutes of quiet. And then Castiel says, "Dean, there's nowhere I would rather be."

Dean looks at him, then looks down at the flask. His voice comes out a little scratchier than he'd been expecting, "That's a little weird Cas, but... I get what you mean."

Cas smiles, and then looks back at the lamp, settling against Dean's side.


	4. Chapter Four - Sunny California

**Chapter Four - Sunny California**

Sam hates these California jobs. It reminds him too much of college, of Jessica. The life they had together. And this time of year, of the Christmases they shared as a couple. Sam being estranged from not only his Dad, but Dean, he didn't really have anyone to go home to. It wasn't like they had an address and he could show up without warning drop his bags and say, _Dad, I'm home for Christmas_ and they could sit down and talk school and Hunting and be a family. He wanted that, but he knew he wasn't going to get it. And what he had with Jess was beautiful. It was intimate and youthful and loving and all he really needed.

But she was gone. And he'd gone too far from himself in the past few years to be able to come back here and feel like the same person. He wonders if she would love him now, if they met for the first time today.

Dean can see how it hurts, so he keeps trying to distract from it - throwing them both headfirst into the hunt, complaining over and over about how he's not an LA kind of guy, and it's _too damn hot_ to be winter. Sam appreciates the effort, he does. It's just not helping so much. Because every rare moment that Dean allows himself to drop the act, it's to go call Cas. And though he keeps it to an amazingly unselfish ten minutes a night, in those ten minutes Sam feels his longing for Jess and for that feeling of home so much worse.

Because Dean has his person now. And the incredible thing is, Cas can meet him anywhere, be with him anywhere. Their home-feeling isn't tied to one _too-sunny to be December_ place, no one geographic location. It's wherever they are, together.

And Sam is jealous. So jealous.

Because when Christmas night comes, or any other along the way where it's just this side of chilly, Castiel will show up, because Dean will need him to. He won't have to say it, or explain it. Castiel will simply be there. Because sometimes that's what you need - just for the other person to be there, to keep you warm and make that feeling of home. And Dean will have that.

But Sam will be alone. And he won't be able to help but think about Jessica, and their little plastic tree, meagre ornaments shining in the light of their one candle, and the way she felt pressed against him, warm and fuzzy-headed from the eggnog, as they fell asleep together.

He makes a promise to himself, that he won't be bitter. Because she wouldn't want that. And because he really is happy that Dean might get that, finally, for himself.

He'll be fine. He just can't wait to get out of California.


	5. Chapter Five - Homecoming

_Thanks you guys so much for the reviews. I'm really glad to have gotten some positive feedback, since this whole fic has felt like a jumbled mess. I'm actually excited about this chapter - I just came up with it and I like the universe so I may continue it. _

_Please forgive any mistakes, I am literally typing and posting this on my break, sitting in a corner at work... Ha._

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**Chapter Five - Homecoming**

Dean's hands tightened on the steering wheel. His knuckles have been white for the past hour and a half. The closer they get to Castiel's parents' house, the more he chokes the life out of the steering wheel.

"You seem nervous."

"Nah," Dean says so falsely that Castiel can't help but smile.

"Whatever happens," Cas says, "I'm on your side."

Dean gives a chuckle, "Shouldn't I be saying that to you?"

Castiel shrugs, "I suppose it can be very strange, going into someone else's family home, being the stranger. I just want you to know that you've got an ally."

Dean doesn't say anything, but he smiles and chews his bottom lip out of nerves.

Castiel knows his parents aren't half bad. As far as families go, they're pretty put together. Christians with a gay son who they love and mostly, if not vocally, accept as he is. They'd offered to allow Castiel's boyfriend to come home with him, stay for their Holiday break. And while Castiel suspects it was merely out of a kind of morbid curiosity and desperate need to assess this mysterious _boy_ their son spends so much time with, he is thankful that they are at least trying. But even knowing this, he feels the need to warn Dean. Maybe not because of _his_ family, but because of _Dean's_. He's got his history, and he likes his privacy. He's not ashamed of all he's been through, how rough life has been on him in his youth, but he doesn't like everyone knowing. It's part of what allows Cas to know, without doubt, that he is special. Dean has let him in. Dean wanted Cas to know.

"They will ask you about your parents," Cas tells him quietly, staring down at his own hands before chancing a look at Dean.

"I know," he answers just as quietly. "I don't have anything to hide, Cas. You know that."

"I know. I just... I don't want them to make you feel..."

"Hey," he looks at Cas with as much attention as he can afford while driving, "if there's anything we both know for damn sure, it's that we're not our parents. Besides," he smirks, "I ain't that delicate."

Castiel huffs a laugh, shaking his head, and feels some of the tension melt away. He reaches over and gently takes Dean's hand off the wheel and kisses it before giving it back.

The rest of the ride is spent in a comfortable quiet, the radio playing the now-familiar sounds of Dean's favorites - all classic rock tunes written and performed before Dean himself was old enough to speak. Castiel was never one for electric guitars, spastic drums, and gratuitous lyrics, but being with Dean has given him an appreciation for the rawness of it. And he likes the way Dean doesn't even realize he's singing along.

It's dusk when they pull off the interstate, the sun hanging low enough to give the grassy fields in this rural part of town a glossy, etherial glow. All blues and yellows. Dean's knuckles start to go white again as they close in on populated society with every passing mile, crossing through less farmland, and more neighborhoods.

Castiel directs him calmly through the twists and turns of his hometown until they reach the threshold of his driveway.

They pull into the driveway and they sit there, in the dark, the car idling. Castiel looks over to Dean - his mouth is open, green eyes wide and scanning every visible inch of the monolithic castle of a home.

"Told you," Castiel states drily.

"You weren't kiddin'," Dean mutters, tilting his head comically to try to see the top of the house out of the windshield. After a moment he leans back into his seat and turns off the car, fidgeting with the keys in his hands. He looks at Castiel when he hears him take a deep breath. Dean knocks Castiel's thigh and waits for him to meet his eyes. When he does, Dean smirks, as cocksure and affectionate as he can, and the combination makes Cas smile back.

The front porch light comes on and they both look to the door.

Dean breathes deep and lets his hand rest heavily on the handle of the car door, "Here we go..."


	6. Chapter Six - Homecoming II

**Chapter Six - Homecoming II**

Castiel's parents seem pleasant enough. Although, pretty much everyone is amicable when you've barely got the first foot in the foyer and you're surrounded by gold-ribbon-laced wreaths and garland - on the front door, wrapped up the banister of the impressive staircase, hanging from the _chandelier_ just inside the foyer. Cas' mom is flush-cheeked from cooking and smiles genuinely when she sees Dean. He likes the way she hugs Cas tight like she's been waiting all day for him to get there. Her eyes are a little watery when she finally pulls away and Cas can't help but smile even though he whines out a feigned-embarrassed "_Mom_...".

Castiel's father smiles too, giving him a terse hug. But Dean gets the feeling that small affection means a lot. He shakes Dean's hand, very firmly, giving him a nod.

"Well, uh, dinner will be ready in about twenty minutes. There's cider if you boys want," Castiel's mother says after all of the initial pleasantries have been completed.

"Thanks mom. I'm gonna give him the tour, put our bags down."

"Ok, good. Good." She looks between them multiple times, as if trying to marry it in her head- her baby boy and Dean, an item. Castiel is terrified for a moment that she's doing what she does - the _wedding test_. It's a little quirk his mother has, and made the mistake of telling her children about when Castiel's older sister got engaged. She will look at her child, whichever of them it is, and their new boyfriend/girlfriend, and try to imagine what they would look like beside each other on their wedding day.

Castiel makes a mental oath to never tell Dean about this.

"I better get back to the kitchen," she says finally. Her husband follows.

Cas motions for Dean to follow him and they make their way up the stairs to a hallway with dark hardwood floor and beige, un-smudged walls. Castiel pauses outside an open door, cocking his head to the side, eyes scanning something which Dean has yet to see, but he can hear shuffling and muttering. They wait there a moment until Dean hears a booming voice from inside the room.

"Hey! Castiella! Well if it isn't my long lost borderline autistic little brother!"

Dean's eyebrows raise. He already doesn't like this guy.

He may tease Sam, since that is an older brother's job, but the way this guy teases Cas just makes Dean want to straighten his shoulders up and stand tall, and be as menacing as he knows he can be. He wants to scare him. For Cas.

"Gabriel," Cas greets, already sounding irritated.

"Hey look," Gabriel starts, and while Dean can hear him rifling around through things, he moves to stand directly beside Cas. This affords him the sightlines to peer into the room. Which looks like all of the personality in the house was crammed into it's four walls.

"I found all my old porn! Oh...woah," he turns the dvd over in his hand, "Casa Erotica 15. Classic..."

Castiel moves slightly into the room and Dean follows. "This, is Gabriel," Castiel tells him, unimpressed. "Gabriel, this is Dean."

The older man looks up, eyes zeroing in on Dean, and Dean can see an expression he recognizes from his youth spent in rougher neighborhoods and group homes - assessment. How dangerous is he? How much of a liar?

"So, you're the penniless drifter Brokeback Mountain-ing my brother all over the dorm room." He narrows his eyes, looking Dean up and down. "Is it all dick you like, or just Cas, because well, he's practically a dainty lady anyway."

"Gabe!" Cas hisses. For a moment Dean thinks his Castiel may just claw his older brother in the face. It is distraction enough from the offensive nature of Gabriel's comment for Dean to remind himself that punching him would be frowned upon.

"What?" Gabriel asks, feigning innocence. He looks back to Dean, "Aren't you a little too... dudely for my little brother?"

Dean keeps it together, merely looking at Gabriel with what he hopes is an aloof derision. "Dudely?"

"Yeah. What're you, the straightest gay guy in America? You look like Sam Elliot's long lost nephew." Dean does not miss the way Gabriel subtly moves through the room, so that he is closer to Dean, than to Cas. No barrier of brother between them. "You just get rolled out of a wrangler ad?"

Castiel is fuming, glaring over Dean's shoulder at the older brother who has always, without fail, been able to push his buttons. Dean is quiet for a moment, before his posture changes, and Cas immediately recognizes it - this is the look of cocky, give 'em Hell Dean. He loves cocky Give 'em Hell Dean...

"Well I used to be a lot more limp-wristed," Dean starts casually, "but I've had to butch up, being with Cas. Your little brother needs a more manly kinda handling, if you know what I mean." He smirks easily, "Nothin' dainty about him. And I mean _nothin_'," he finishes with a lascivious raise of eyebrows and a smirk that nearly makes Cas bite down on his own lip. But shock wins out over attraction, and instead Castiel's mouth falls open.

_Brilliant. Completely brilliant_.

Gabriel is, for once, out of comebacks. His eyes glint with the acceptance and appreciation of a challenge, a new worthy competitor. Dean had bested him into a rare silence on their first meeting. And Castiel, while embarrassed, is extremely impressed.

Gabriel's face breaks out into a grin, "Well played Winchester. _Gross_," he says with the grimace to match, "but well played."

Gabriel searches around his bedsheets, pulling out a jacket from the tangled mess.

"Leaving?" Castiel asks. "We don't have a family meal with you to look forward to?"

"While the local girls are all on break and meeting up for cran-tinis at the bar? Uh, _no_."

"Shame. I was hoping your antics might distract some of the focus."

Gabriel gives one loud laugh, and then puts a hand on Castiel's shoulder, "Not likely." They both see Castiel swallow hard and look away. Dean gets to witness then, what he assumes is a very rare moment of brotherly support as Gabriel steps closer and tells Castiel, "It's gonna be fine."

"I know," Cas replies defiantly.

Gabriel rolls his eyes. He steps back snatching up his car keys, shrugging on his coat. "Whatever. Tootles lovebirds." He's barely out the door when he backtracks to peek back in, "Don't get your gay all over my room."

Castiel throws the nearest solid thing at Gabriel's head and Dean can hear the older brother cackling with laughter all the way out the front door.

When they can hear the front door slam closed Castiel finally exhales and looks at Dean, who merely looks back. Dean gives a whistle.

Castiel's voice is low and flat, "You were warned."

"Yeah well, words don't do that guy justice."

Castiel smiles, huffing out a laugh as he steps forward. He kisses him quickly, a little peck on the lips and says, "Come on. I'll show you my room."

"Mmm," Dean jokes, following Castiel out. He smiles when Castiel snorts and shakes his head.


	7. Chapter Seven - Homecoming III

_Super-fast posting! Sorry for any errors!_

* * *

**Chapter Seven - Homecoming III**

Ah, the family dinner.

"So, Dean. What are your aspirations?" Cas' father asks with absolutely no segue.

Castiel rolls his eyes so hard that his head tilts back a little. Dean shoots him a smile out of the corner of his eye letting him know two things - a, that he finds Cas adorable; and b, that he's just fine answering any questions Cas' dad can throw at him.

He clears his throat and turns his full attention to Castiel's father. "Well, uh, right now I'm in sort of an academic mess," Dean gives a chuckle. Cas' mother as well as his younger brother Samandriel give him a smile whilst Cas' father raises his eyebrows in curiosity. If there is a little concern there, Dean doesn't take it personally. "I'm in the middle of trying to change my major. It's kind of screwing up all of my credits."

Castiel's father gives a nod, "Mm. From what to what?"

"Well, I got into school on a sports scholarship. And I put a lot of my time into it - training and practice and games. Even made my major sports medicine. But... to tell the truth I never wanted to play professionally, you know."

Castiel's father stops chewing to really focus on him.

"And I always had coaches and scouts tellin' me _oh you're gonna go this far_, and _we can get you a foot into that organization_ and _this is the game that will buy you the minors_. After awhile, it just started to feel dishonest. I didn't really want it, and all these people were spending their time on trying to make sure I made the big time." He shrugged. "Felt like I should just... let them spend their energy on someone who wanted it."

"That's extremely reasonable," Castiel's mother says, as though Dean's perspective is impressively mature.

He smiles at her.

"So... you quit the team?" the father asks, and Dean recognizes the tone. It's the tone most people have when they find out a stone-broke kid like him gave up the golden ticket. That a guy like him dared to give up on sports.

Castiel cringes internally, but Dean breezes right by it. "Well, not quite right away," he admits with a smile. "I been puttin' so much energy into athletics... I uh, had to get my grades up before I did anything. Cas helped me with that."

The way he smiles at him, right there in front of everyone, as though Cas is special and important and makes him happy... it raises a blush to Castiel's cheeks.

"Now I'm studying engineering."

Castiel's father's eyebrows raise again, and Castiel cringes again. It's condescending in a way, though he imagines unintentionally so. The expression reads as though he is surprised, more than impressed, that Dean, an average-student jock, would undertake such a scholastic hardship. "Engineering. That's a very challenging subject."

Castiel glares.

Dean merely nods and smirks, "Yes, sir. Sure as Hell is."

Castiel's mother gives a little laugh and her eyes are alight with interest and tentative affection. Cas figures he should've known Dean would have no problem winning over the women in his family.

"What got you interested in engineering?" the father asks, cutting his steak.

"I've always been good with cars and machines," he shrugs, "like working with my hands, building, seeing how the pieces fit. Can field strip an M40 in under 40 seconds and know exactly how it works, from pin to spring." He says it proudly before he bothers to take a moment to realize that Castiel's parents look taken aback.

"Were you in the military?" Samandriel asks.

"Nah," he answers, and probably no one but Castiel can notice the stiffening of his shoulders, "my Dad. He uh, was a Marine for a time."

Castiel's parents nod in that way that is vaguely respectful, as if they know they are expected to be, but find the actual serving of the military to be a crude, violent, best not talked about kind of thing.

"And what does your father do now?" Castiel's mother asks brightly.

Castiel stiffens, looks at Dean, and then turns his eyes on his father, cold and accusing.

"Uh," Dean looks down at his plate a moment, but raises his head a moment later, voice and expression the picture of the kind of strength you develop over a hardship, "Both of my parents have passed."

Castiel's mother's mouth falls into an 'o', she looks all at once sad for Dean, and mortified to have not known. "Oh, I'm so sorry."

Dean waves a hand, "That's alright."

At this point Dean is not the only one noticing the way Castiel is looking at his father.

The rest of dinner passes in pleasantries and questions that Dean seems more than willing to answer. He can feel Castiel fuming beside him, but no one else seems to be taking note. When dinner ends, Dean offers to do dishes, which earns him a few more points with Cas' mom even though she refuses to allow it, citing that he is a guest and she loathes to put a guest to work... on their first visit.

Dean likes her already.

Castiel's father retreats to the den to watch football, and Samandriel follows, gameboy in hand.

Dean merely follows Cas, who heads to his bedroom. As the walk in Dean can sense Cas is near _alert level red_, and he closes the door behind him.

"Cas?"

"I told my father about your parents," he whispers angrily. "I told him so that maybe, they wouldn't ask about it. I _told_ him to tell her. Clearly he didn't."

"Cas-"

"He never listens! Why would he not listen about this?"

It's only when Dean doesn't respond that Cas bothers to look up. He sees Dean standing there, watching him, looking almost... amused. Cas seems to deflate.

"Thanks for the gallant attempt to protect me from my own life, sweet Knight, but I'm sure I'll be ok."

Cas does feel a little chastised for that, but the way Dean is smiling at him softens the blow. Looking at each other now brings them back to the reality of who and what they are to each other - when no one is watching. It's a bit of a relief for them both. Neither realized how exhausting it is to hold such tension within when your outside is all pleasantries and _ma'am_s and _sir_s.

They all but collapse onto the edge of Cas' bed, Dean immediately falling back onto the mattress as if they're back in Cas' dorm room. It amuses Cas that Dean has the uncanny ability to simply make himself at home. He supposes he's had to.

He can't deny, he doesn't mind the look of Dean, all toned and familiar and beautiful, splayed out on the childhood bed where he used to fret about the possibility of spending his life a closeted virgin too geeky to land a guy who really turned him on.

He looks at Dean now, and sees someone he can't imagine being without. Even on these family-oriented holidays. His forever-ally.

Cas sits awkwardly on the edge of the bed, hands in his lap. He looks over his shoulder at where Dean is laying back against the quilt, eyes closed.

"So... how are you?"

"Full," Dean groans, resting both hands on his stomach.

"Not what I meant," Cas mutters.

"I know."

After a long moment Dean opens his eyes and reaches a hand lazily over to Cas' elbow. Cas acts on instinct and offers Dean his hand, which makes Dean smile ever so slightly.

"I'm good," Dean tells him quietly.

Cas smiles, and answers just as quietly, "Good."


	8. Chapter Eight - Time II

_This goes along with the earlier chapter of the same title - Cas going back in time to see Dean's Christmases._

_This having multiple stories going at once is a little confusing for me. Hopefully it isn't as bad for you. Just remember, go by the titles. That'll let you know which series you're in._

* * *

**Chapter Eight - Time II**

Castiel watches him push the window's lock out of place with his knife, raise the rickety wood and it's pane, and climb inside, letting the window back down silently. There's something artful in it. In the way he manipulates his surroundings, slides into the room so fluidly. His form is so much smaller here, the bulk of adulthood not upon him yet. His shoulders still slight, and limbs long, strong, but thin; lacking the masculine weight of being a man.

Castiel watches him click on his flashlight, glancing around warily for anyone who might've heard, before tip-toeing over to the massive Christmas tree. He stands for a moment, just looking at it, lost in its beauty. Castiel can't blame him. It's quite pretty, as trees go. Tall to the ceiling, draped in lights and tinsel and glittering crystal ornaments. But it's not these that catch Dean's eye. No, he comes forward and just barely cups in his palm a dangling thing made of paper and cotton balls, clearly made by a child. It's hanging there, proudly on display right at the forefront. And it isn't the only decoration signifying a child's obviously important presence in the household. There are others littered throughout the tree - made of popsicle sticks and pipe cleaners and scrawled with crayon or marker.

Castiel tilts his head, trying to understand the depths of what this barely twelve year old boy version of Dean is feeling, as he captures a wave of sadness and longing rolling out from him at the sight of silly childish things, so appreciated.

Dean shakes out of it, getting that all too familiar look of determination about him. And he points the flashlight down at the gifts wrapped neatly under the tree. He quietly and carefully pulls out a few smaller pieces, gently placing them into the bag thrown over his shoulder.

Castiel is physically pained by the pang of guilt Dean feels at this. He can feel Dean thinking of his brother to get him through it; thinking of how Sammy will wake up tomorrow with nothing if he doesn't do this.

Castiel is stricken by the compassion he feels, being that he isn't supposed to feel anything. Granted, Dean's been upsetting that rule since the first time they met. So it isn't uncommon now. But it still takes him aback every now and again. Just how _much_ he feels. How much he's _capable_ of feeling. Even after a millennia of being told he couldn't.

Dean's supple pre-teen brow is furrowed in self-hate the entire walk back to the motel. His boots soaking in the slush in the gutter, bottoms of his jeans heavy with wet. Castiel wonders, if Dean can feel even a little, that he's got an angel walking beside him the whole way home.

Even if he can't, Castiel feels better somehow, that Dean's not walking alone.


	9. Chapter Nine - Homecoming IV

**Chapter Nine - Homecoming IV**

"Cas..."

"Mmm?"

"..._Cas_..."

"Yes Dean?" he rumbles against Dean's throat.

"Your family..." He is distracted again as Cas' lips latch like sucking-velvet to his skin. But he gathers all his willpower to get his thought out, "They're right down the hall."

Cas pulls away with one last tongue flick to Dean's adam's apple, and shifts up to look at Dean's face.

"Shy all of a sudden?" Cas deadpans.

Dean gives him a look, but his hands never leave Cas' hips, where they had a some point sneakily worked their way between the hem of his shirt and the waist of his pajama pants to rest on naked skin. He loves Cas' hips; those bones are the perfect handle, with the perfect cradle for his thumb. That divot... he loves that divot.

But right now, he's trying to be the sensible one - which is rare in and of itself, and is made all the more difficult by the feeling of Cas' warm weight on top of him. His body holding Dean down to the mattress. Dean likes it too much.

"We can be quiet," Cas whispers against his adam's apple, tongue peeking out to brush skin, lips open and lax against Dean's throat.

Dean snorts, "Speak for yourself."

When Cas doesn't really let up with the touching and the kissing and the general proximity, Dean squeezes his eyes shut, nipping at his throat, he can't help but voice his concern. "s'Now really the time?"

Cas barely pauses, "Call it an early Christmas present."

"The gift that keeps on giving, huh," Dean jokes slyly.

Cas bites slowly down on the junction of his neck and shoulder and the laugh is chased from his voice with a sharp breath in. All the while Cas' hands are smoothing up and down Dean's torso, making him breathy, desperately fighting the need to roil up against him, slow and lazy, just like he likes. But he won't. Because Cas' parents are literally right down the hall, Gabriel could be anywhere with a glass to the door or their adjoining wall, and poor Samandriel does not need to be scarred like that. On any other day, in any other circumstance, Dean would damn the consequences and give Cas exactly what he wants. And then some. But, it just doesn't feel right, being a guest in their home, to violate these good people's son a stone's throw from where their all going to be having breakfast in an hour.

And he knows that as quiet as Cas thinks they can be, there's something about people having sex nearby that makes everybody hyper-aware. Dean is certain they would know.

But it's not just that. Whilst Dean knows that Cas does want him (the infuriatingly appetizing hardness making a rythmic home in the crease of his hip and thigh right now is pretty much irrefutable proof) he doesn't like the idea of them doing this just because Cas might want to stick it to his Dad. It doesn't feel as though consent is dubious in any way, like Cas is out of his mind and doesn't know what he's doing. It's just that... Dean would rather that when they do this, the only person Cas is thinking about sticking it to... is him.

Of course, while Dean is thinking all this over, Cas' hand is sneakily making its way down Dean's stomach to the very obvious bulge in his pajama pants. Dean makes an interrupted sound of protest, taking Cas' wandering hand in his own. Cas sighs in frustration, rolling off of him. He pulls his hand from Dean's less than gently. Dean glances over at him, noticing he looks a lot more angry than is necessary.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Cas bites back.

They lay in a tense silence for a long moment before Cas seems to break and snipes, "Since when are you so conservative?"

On the surface it might seem like a joke, or a harmless jibe, but there's a harshness to it that hurts Dean somewhere in the murky middle of his chest for the implied opposite - that Dean's not conservative at all, that Cas maybe thinks he's been a little too... loose in the past. And even slight implication of judgement from Cas always hits Dean like a slap to the face. Because he's been judged all his life, he judges himself even more harshly, and the one person who likes him as is, is Cas.

Dean leans up on his elbows, looking over at Cas, studying him. His brow is set into a stubborn frown. Dean knows he doesn't have anything to apologize for - it's his prerogative to say no to sex any damn time he wants. But... he can't fight the instinct.

"Sorry," he mutters quietly. His voice comes out maybe a little more meek than he meant.

That seems to shake Cas out of his funk. Dean can physically see his tension melt as his eyes fall closed and he lets out a deep sigh. He won't meet Dean's eyes but he rolls onto his side and presses his face to Dean's chest.

Dean doesn't want to chuckle because it's not that kind of moment, and he doesn't want Cas to think he doesn't want a damn apology, but, the way Cas acts like a cat sometimes, nuzzling his face against him, is pretty damn fascinating and very, dare he say it, cute.

Cas pats him on the chest and presses down a little and Dean gets the message, laying back, Cas settling his cheek against his chest, wrapping his arms around Dean's middle and hugging him tight.

"I'm sorry," he whispers into Dean's chest. And then a quiet moment later, "Thank you."

Dean knows he's saying _thank you_ for forgiving him as well as for stopping him from making an ass out of both of them in his parents' house. Dean feels very appreciated in that moment. like he made the mature choice. And everything feels comfortable again. He's glad, because they need to stick together. In less than an hour the dog and pony show of _Holidays with the family!_ starts again, and lovely though they are, it's stressful. For both of them.

Still, Dean feels special for being invited in to Cas' world. It's nice, to have a family to stress about.


	10. Chapter Ten - Susie Friggin' Homemaker

_Some nice Charlie POV. Friendship galore._

* * *

**Chapter Ten - Susie Friggin' Homemaker**

The first thing she notices, is that Dean is very comfortable in the kitchen. She guesses it's because he'd cooked for himself and Sam all his childhood. Charlie on the other hand is a disaster. She knows this. If it weren't for take-out she'd be living off of Ramen noodles and Hot Pockets. So she just kind of... follows his lead.

She can't help but smile, impressed, as she watches Dean crack an egg like he's getting paid three digits an hour to do it.

Sometimes it's hard for Charlie to remember that she hasn't actually known the Winchesters that long. It's weird, because they feel like long-time friends. But more than that... Like the friends that you consider family because you were raised with them. She wasn't. She didn't even know them before Dick Roman turned into a snapping turtle from Hell or whatever. But whenever she thinks about Dean and Sam she doesn't really think about that. Or how she got her arm snapped. Or that time she was kidnapped. Scratch that - any of the multiple times she was kidnapped, by something decidedly _not_ human. No, when she thinks about them, she doesn't think about the bad stuff that brought them together. This is a gift, she realizes now. Her optimism. Her ability to hold onto the good stuff, and give everything else the finger. She only thinks of how good these guys are. How strong, and how determined to do right, and how brave, and how brave she feels when she's with them. Heroes like she'd always dreamed were real. Like from her books and comics. Only... better. Because they're so... _real_.

Dean really is the closest thing she'll ever have to a brother.

Maybe it's weird that their relationship has really only consisted of a few near-death experiences and yet it's completely natural to her to think, _Yeah, we should definitely be having Christmas together_. Because Dean, being her sort-of brother, and Sam being his actual brother, and Cas being... whatever he is to them... they're the only family she's got left. And she knows how important it is to let yourself love your family.

Besides, she kind of likes the idea of being this merry band of evil-fighting misfits. A fellowship of sorts.

She knows being with the Winchesters is basically like holding up a flag to every malicious power in the universe that says in big red letters: _Here's Waldo!_ And she knows that she's clever, that she's got a skill-set that none of their other confidants have, but she isn't so arrogant as to think she can outrun the curse befalling these boys forever. Someday, something will get her. But...

For now, she's happy to be with Dean, taking over the kitchen and doing something real people do. Cooking a holiday meal for their family. She knows Dean feels just as strongly about this. That it's important. It's been a long time since Charlie got to have Christmas. She bets it's been a long time for Dean too. And Sam. And for Cas, well... who knows? They've all gone way too long without it. On this point, Dean and Charlie very much see eye to eye.

Maybe it's because they both had their happy domesticity ripped away from them so young.

It forces you to be tough. To pretend like you don't need anyone or anything. Take Dean for example...

People who don't know him probably think he's homophobic. That he's a guy's guy in that way that precludes him liking anything remotely close to emotional or emasculating. But there's so much more to him than that. And it's moments like this that he really shows his colors. Because as closed-minded as others might find him, _Charlie_ is his best friend. And as hopelessly hetero-normative as he might seem, he's more comfortable in his apron, wrist-deep in flour and dough than he is on a football field or in a bar, pretending to be tough.

Charlie appreciates that about him - that he defies assumption.

He looks over at her and quirks an eyebrow and she looks down at the mess she's made attempting to measure out different ingredients while lost in her own thoughts.

"Oops," she says with an embarrassed squint.

He rolls his eyes and it looks impatient on the surface, but Charlie smiles because she knows it's indulgent.

"How did you manage this?" he asks wiping up some of the Vanilla extract that had somehow completely missed the bowl.

"What? Just because I have ladyparts I'm supposed to be Betty Crocker?"

She starts to help him, but she's all thumbs. She has no idea what she's doing.

Dean starts brushing her hands away, "What're you doing? Nah nah nah nah nah - gimme this." He takes one bowl from her and hands her another. "You just... stir that."

"Yes sir."

He chuckles and shakes his head.

After a quiet moment she says, "You know Winchester, you're pretty good at this."

He shrugs like it's nothing, but she can somehow see right through it. She seems to be one of the few people who can do that - see right through him to true Dean. And true Dean is flattered, and proud of himself. And that's kind of adorable.


	11. Chapter Eleven - Lonely

_I apologize for completely abandoning this. After a series of insane work days closing a show, then an extensive holiday car ride, a plane, and another car ride (during which we got a flat tire on the damn highway) I have finally slept, mingled with the family, and rested my brain enough to come back to this. I know technically, the time is over. But I'm just gonna keep going until I get the ideas that my brain started without my permission, out on paper. Well... digitally speaking._

_This chapter has nothing to do with anything previous, is an AU, and came completely out of left field. Hope you like it. Lemme know if you want a second part. :)_

_Sorry in advance for any grammatical flusterclucks. Reviews are always much appreciated, so thank you bunches for having left them. They're very helpful. And they give me the happy fuzzies._

_Ok, on with the show..._

* * *

Chapter Eleven - Lonely Isn't Always Bad

Dean is at the bar, drowning his sorrows in discount beer when the door opens letting a frigid gust of wind against his back. He turns to see who has come in, and is met with the sight of a pale, handsome man, maybe a little older than himself, a little slighter in build but definitely not small; his skin is pale white but his cheeks are windblown red; his hair is a dark twisted mess, like he's just rolled out of the harem, and his clothes look in a similar disarray. Like he had no care for them at all when he was putting them on.

He comes up to the bar, and when he speaks Dean has to hold in a sound of approval - his voice is dark and deep and abused-sounding. It turns Dean's engine just right.

Hands on the bar's edge the man asks, "Are you still serving food?"

"Nah man, it's after ten thirty," the bartender says it as though it's obvious, as though the stranger should have known. Dean hates when bartenders do that. If he had known, he wouldn't have fucking asked.

"Hey, get him some liquid dinner, on me," Dean waves lazily to the bartender.

"What'll you have?"

"Oh, uh," the stranger looks at Dean, "Thank you."

Dean gives him a fake smile, "Merry Christmas," and motions at him with his glass.

The man looks back at the bartender and tells him, "Whiskey neat."

"What kind?" the bartender rolls his eyes.

"Whatever his kindness will buy me," the stranger answers with a sharp edge that has the bartender backing off, and quick.

Dean's interest perks up, he grins, eyes going from the stranger to the cowed bartender and back again.

The stranger sits down beside him. "Thank you again."

"No problem man. Thanks for handling that douche-canoe."

The stranger smiles shyly. "If you don't mind me asking, why is a man like yourself drinking alone on Christmas Eve?"

"Ah," Dean takes a deep breath, "that's a long story. The uh, most recent development of which has me thrown out on my ass. Living out of my car."

The bartender drops off the drink, and Dean watches as the man downs it in one, and motions for another. He turns his, Dean now notices, _startlingly_ blue eyes back to him, in expectation of the story continuing.

Dean shrugs, _why the fuck not?_ He doesn't have anything to hide. No one gives a shit, clearly. "My girlfriend, controlling bitch that she is, was looking through my stuff. Found a dildo that uh, didn't belong to her."

"Oh."

"Yeah. So, cat's outta the bag on that one. Vibrating ass-plug beside it probably didn't help my case."

"So... you're homosexual..." It's not so much a question as a baffled summation.

"Kinda always thought I was middle of the road, but," he shakes his head with a sigh, "longer I was with her, more I wanted, no, _needed_... _Cock_. Every time she nagged me, every time I looked across the table or the bed and saw her sitting there, oblivious to me, just, not even fucking _trying_ to know me... all I could think was how much I wanted some guy to bend me over. Hold me down and fuck me raw."

His beer is poised at his lips, but he's too caught up in reminiscing to take a sip. He finally shakes himself out of it and glances at his bar-mate, to see his eyes wide, cheeks a little flushed. Dean doesn't want to assume anything, so he just apologizes for the overabundance of imagery. "Sorry man. But I will say, feels good to say that out loud." He smiles crookedly and the other man smiles back. It's small but genuine, his eyes go shyly down to his hands, resting on the bar, rolling the two ends of a stirrer between the thumb and forefingers of both hands.

His has... gorgeous hands.

"You were with her for a long time?" he asks as though he isn't sure he's allowed.

Dean doesn't mind. "Nah, not really. Long for me," Dean admits. "Long enough to move in together. Well, I moved into her place. Never really felt like _ours_, ya know? Felt like I was a permanent guest." Dean takes a sip, "At first we were all spark. All heat. But, we never really got each other. I always knew it, I guess I just thought that if I was with her long enough it might just... click. Or something. It didn't. It never does. That's why I never make it a relationship. I know better. I think I would feel it. If it was gonna click. I'm always looking for that click to just," he snaps, "happen. But," he shrugs, "never has and I was starting to doubt that theory because of it. Doubt myself. Besides, the sex was fucking fantastic and I was feeling pressured and she was feeling pressured, so..."

"So you moved in together."

Dean nods, "Yeah at first it was fun. We fucked like rabbits. I'm talking, all over the apartment." He glances over and the man is smiling shyly again, seemingly quietly amused. "But it doesn't take that long for the novelty to wear off. And when it did, I realized we were just kind of strangers, sharing space. But, I'm too much of a fucking coward to break up with her so we're in this apartment, living this lie, not talking, not touching, for a _year_."

The stranger raises his eyebrows, listening intently and sipping none too gently on his second whiskey.

"And all the while she's getting colder and colder and I'm spending more and more time in the shower jacking off thinking about getting completely _owned_ by some... faceless mystery guy, and sucking his dick so hard his knees buckle." Dean gives a cold laugh, shaking his head, "What a fuck up."

He gulps down the last of his beer and motions for the bartender to bring them another round, seeing the stranger down his too. They sit quietly until their drinks come and Dean can't help but notice the obvious lack of judgement from the man. How comfortable the silence is, when it always felt like a tangible, hundred pound plague between him and Lisa. When the bartender drops off their beer and whiskey, respectively, they clink glasses without even thinking about it, and they both smile.

"So how about you?" Dean asks. "What brings you to this shithole on the most festive night of the year?"

"I was just released from prison."

Dean gulps down the beer that's sitting forgotten in his mouth. He stares at this man, who after a lengthy pause, looks back at Dean. He doesn't appear to be joking.

"Prison?" Dean asks, not quite believing it.

The man merely nods.

To Dean, he doesn't really look the prison type. He's well shaven, in a cheap and modest suit and tie, thin but built, and utterly... handsome. He doesn't really fit Dean's porn-induced stereotype of the muscle-bound gangbanger, all tatted up and aggressive. Not knowing what to say, Dean cracks a joke. "What'd they let you out for good behavior?"

There's a very blatant pause before the man deadpans, "No." He takes a sip of his whiskey. After a long moment of tense silence the man says, "I served my time, all of it, not a day more, not a day less."

Dean nods. "Is it cliche if I ask what you were in for?"

The man doesn't answer, but for a moment his eyebrows draw together and he looks almost... pained. Sad. It's a look Dean recognizes as regret. All of a sudden, he doesn't want to know. Or more accurately, he doesn't want the guy to have to say it. "Hell of a Christmas present, getting out today."

The man glances at him, seems to acknowledge the statement for what it is - a way out of answering the previous question.

Instead of just talking for the sake of chit chat the man turns on his stool and fixes Dean with a stare the likes of which he has never been under before. He seems to examine him, take in every inch of him, every minute detail. After what feels like a hot, prickly eternity, he seems to come to a decision. He stands, and it brings him slightly closer to Dean. Close enough that Dean can smell him, can feel his body heat.

"What's your name?" There's a hint of demand to his rough voice, and Dean feels it shiver right down to his groin.

"Dean," he answers. "Winchester."

The man nods, reaches in his pocket for cash and throws enough down on the bar to cover both of their tabs.

"Would you like to spend Christmas with me, Dean Winchester?"

Dean's stunned stupid for a moment before he clumsily regains his mental acuity, "No awkward family gatherings?"

The man snorts, but gives a lopsided smile down toward the floor. And damn if it isn't sexy. "Not likely," he tells Dean.

Dean weighs his options for far less time than any sane person would, knowing that this complete stranger is not only an ex-con, but has just been eyeing him like he'd like to ravage him to complete uselessness. He stands up off his stool, straightens out his jacket and shrugs, as if to say, _Why not?_.

The man grins and his eyes glint with a mischief that's got Dean's bones vibrating, and his face smiling without his permission.

_Merry fuckin' Chritmas_, he thinks to himself, following this strange man out of the bar and into the snowy cold. For the first time in a year, he feels the thrill of excitement, and the promise of a possible _click_.


	12. Chapter Twelve - Time III

_Yes, I know the date. I am ridiculously behind schedule for an advent/Christmas fic. But I'm not quite done fiddling around with this one yet..._

* * *

**Chapter Twelve - Time III**

It's that strange stretch of time between when they were all together as a family, and when Dean came back for Sam at Stanford and the brothers reunited. Castiel doesn't know much about this time in Dean's life. As best he knows, Dean was hunting, alone, whilst Sam was at school and John was tracking the demon.

Dean is younger than now. His brow a bit smoother, his eyes a bit brighter, his flare for charismatic flourish still intact - he's got rings on his fingers, a chain hanging around his neck along with the amulet he's worn ever since the Christmas Sam gave it to him.

He looks younger in years and spirit, but there is still something burdening him.

For a moment, Castiel thinks he's calibrated his flight incorrectly. He's meant to visit the Christmas of Dean's twenty-fifth year. But to look at him, you would never know it's Christmas at all. There is no trace of festivity to be found in his dingy, empty motel room. But then, Dean turns on the tv, and every channel he flips to is another Holiday movie. He sighs frustratedly and turns the tv off mere moments later.

Castiel sits down across from him, invisible, and watches him think.

Dean thinks about calling his father. Making it seem lighthearted and casual. Leaving the message because he knows John won't pick up. _Hey dad. It's me. Listen, I'm through with my hunt and haven't caught another one yet. n'I figured since it's Christmas maybe we could meet on the road. Have a couple beers. Anyway. Lemme know if you're around._ In his mind he imagines it coming out sounding cool, collected. Not at all desperate or lonely.

But to bother his father for a social call as much as admits defeat of pathetic-ness in its very nature.

So he doesn't.

He thinks about getting in the car and driving to Palo Alto. Showing up on Sam's doorstep claiming to have been in town.

But he thinks it would kill him if the look in Sam's eyes was anything less than ecstatic.

So he doesn't.

He is... impossibly stuck. His only two family members pulling him in either direction. His only two family members who are not calling, not showing up on his doorstep, not thinking about him today when every other family is fighting snow or work or god knows what else just to get to each other.

Castiel watches as Dean sits on the motel couch, undrunk beer in hand, phone poised before him on the table, and him completely unable to move. He cannot muster the courage to reach out to one or the other, for fear of being unwanted. So the minutes tick by, as he stares at his phone. And every minute is a regret that he isn't brave enough to make the move.

Castiel sits across from him, and watches.

And the call never comes.

And Castiel doesn't know that he's ever been sadder.

* * *

_Sorry for the downer. :( I think a lot about the parts of Dean's life when he must've been alone. Sam leaving John effectively divorced him from Dean, and John never really worried about being there for him. So I imagine there was a lot of time that Dean just happened to be by himself by no fault of his own. __Which is sad. Because the one who'd really desperately want to indulge in family-time, is Dean._


End file.
